A Letter From An Old Flame
by kaytimichelle
Summary: FF. Set a little more than 17 years into the future. Meredith is married, has a daughter and Derek is just a smudge on her radar. Then a one sentence letter tips her world upside down.
1. Change of Heart

**Don't be terribly mad at me for not finishing 'Do You Promise?' or 'Yes Meredith' before starting a whole new story. I have this inability to finish things I start. But don't worry. I will add new chapters to both as soon as I get the inspiration to. Which I hope will be soon. I don't really plan out how my stories are going to end up, I just write the chapters as they come.**

**Enough with my ramblings, here's my new story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I wish though.**

There's an unfamiliar letter that seems to stand out from the mail that's haphazardly thrown on your counter by your teenage daughter. It's not unfamiliar in looks. It's not unfamiliar in shape. Yet something about it is so unfamiliar. You can't even see the return address, just the stamp on the corner, poking out from behind your daughter's Seventeen magazine. You want to pick it up and open it, but your husband and your daughter are waiting in the dining room for you to return with the chicken parmesan that you made for dinner. Duty calls, and you ignore the feeling that tells you to take the letter.

"Mer, there's a letter for you," your husband calls from the kitchen table where he's sorting through the mail later that night.

You hate it when he calls you Mer. It doesn't sound right coming from him.

"Lula, could you go get that for me?" you ask your daughter. She rolls her eyes and drags herself away from the computer to get the letter for you.

"Who's Derek?" she asks as she comes back into the living room. Your head snaps to face her and you snatch the envelope out of her hands.

"Don't be so nosy," you say, trying to brush her off, but she persists.

"Shepherd. I've heard that name before," she continues. Your eyes widen, and you glance down at the piece of mail that's clenched between your shaking fingers.

_Dr. Derek Shepherd_

_252 Salsa Verde_

_New York City, New York_

Your heart stops. Your daughter is still talking, she's repeating something, her arm waving in front of your face.

"Hello? Mom? Shepherd? Where have I heard that name before?"

You swallow the bile that had risen into throat before you answer her. "His wife—" you pause, the words making you feel sick.

"His wife? What about her?"

"His wife," you continue, "helped deliver you and performed your heart surgery."

"Oh. Right. So why is her husband writing to you?"

'_Meredith. Just let Addison do it.'_

'_No.'_

'_Meredith! She's the only one who will be able to save you and the baby!'_

That had been the last time you'd ever talked to him. You had let Addison perform the surgery, but you never talked to him again.

16 years. It's been 16 years since you've talked to him or seen him. It's been even longer since you've thought about him in the way that used to making your heart race like it is now.

"He probably just wants to say hi," you finally say, trying to get your daughter to lose interest.

"Can I see?" she asks, curling up on the couch next to you.

"No! Go away Lula."

"Mooom!" she whines.

"Tallulah! For God's sake, go bother your father!" you yell. She sulks out of the room, and you stare at his handwriting on the envelope. It's the same as it was when you left. Your finger slides underneath the flap and you pull a single sheet of paper out of the envelope.

_Meredith-_

_I left her._

_-Derek_

Your heart stops.

He left her?

You take a deep breath before folding the piece of paper up and returning it to its envelope. Your heart is beating a little faster, and your breaths are a little shorter. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the cushioned couch and sigh deeply.

What next?


	2. One Way Ticket

A few days later, you pull the letter out of your purse for the thousandth time. This time, you actually have a purpose other than staring, mesmerized by his writing. His address is written, clear as day, on the corner of the envelope. You pull a pen out of the desk drawer and copy it over on a fresh envelope in the middle. Then you pull out one of your daughter's notebooks and start writing.

_Derek-_

_It's very good to hear from you. Unfortunately I am married, so I'm going to have to ask you to stop writing to me._

_Derek-_

_It was great to hear from you. I'm sorry to hear that you left your wife. I hope you the best._

_Derek-_

_It was quite a shock seeing your name on the return label on your letter. How have the years treated you? I can't say I've done all that poorly, I'm happily married with a wonderful 16 year old daughter._

_Derek-_

_I was very surprised to see such a familiar last name in my mailbox. It's really a shame you two couldn't work it out._

_Derek-_

_I'm quite sorry to hear about your loss. If you're in Seattle anytime, maybe we could get a cup of coffee. After all I am happily married. Maybe I could give you some pointers._

_Derek-_

_I'm very busy, and I don't have time for this._

_Derek-_

_That's great news!_

_Derek-_

_I'm sorry._

_Derek-_

_I—_

"Dammit!"

You throw your pen up in the air and sigh in exasperation as it lands on the desk. You really have no idea what to write. The only thing you do know that you want to write him.

Okay you know a lot more than that. You know you want to ask him how he is, if he misses you, if he stills cares about you, if he wants to see you, if he's still mad at you. But, most importantly, you want to ask him when the next flight to New York is, because you are so on it.

You tear out the sheet of paper you started to write on, crumple it up, and throw it away. Once again you read over the letter, hoping you missed something. A phone number, and email address, anything. Anything that can help you get a hold of him faster than a letter. But no—there's nothing.

Neither your daughter nor husband is home. You say a quick thanks to whoever hears those little prayers you make every so often and slip on the computer. It's been bombarded by your daughter, but you manage to get on the internet. Exactly why, you aren't sure yet. Your fingers are typing without you thinking, and you find yourself looking at a list of flights to New York.

Ignoring the warning that the voice in your head is giving you, you click on one that leaves in two hours. Two hours is enough time right? Explain to your husband that something came up and you need to go visit your aunt in New York. Tell Tallulah that you'll be back as soon as you can.

The purchase button is just inches away. You pull the mouse over it and click on it. There. That settles it. You're going to New York. Quickly you enter all your information in, request a first class ticket if available, and log off the computer. Letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, you stand up and start mentally packing.

'_Clothes, (For how long though? Who knows how long I'm going to stay?) shoes, underwear, bra (Do I still have that pink one? The one with the black lace on it?) toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hair stuff…'_

You still have to wait for Tallulah and Pete to come home before you flat out lie to their faces, but you decide to be packed and ready to go when they come home. Running up the stairs, your heart is already pounding. Do you write him and tell him that you're coming? That would be a little pointless, seeing as it'd probably get there after you. While you pack, you try to imagine what you're going to say to him. For crying out loud, if you couldn't figure out what to say on paper, how are you going to figure out what to say in real life? At least on paper, you can hide behind the pen… but in real life, you're just there, nothing to shield you.


End file.
